Lorraine Heath by Texas Destiny Page A

him because he trusted him and had gained a measure of respect for him, but he knew the truth: Dallas had no one else to send.
    Her laughter drifted into silence, and she placed her hand on his arm. “You really can be quite charming.” Her cheeks flushed, and he wasn’t altogether certain it was from the fever. “Dallas will be a good husband, won’t he?”
    “The best.” He dropped the cloth in the bowl of water. “I’ll get you some water to drink.”
    He started to rise. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around his hand. “Thank you for saving my life.”
    He didn’t have the heart to tell her the worst was still to come.

    Amelia prayed for death when she thought she was going to live, prayed to live when she thought she was going to die. She prayed while she heaved up her breakfast. She prayed when she had nothing left to heave but her body insisted on trying anyway. She prayed when she was shaking from cold and prayed while she was burning with fever.
    She prayed Houston wouldn’t leave her. It was the only prayer answered to her satisfaction. He stayed with her throughout her ordeal, lying constantly.
    He’d tell her the worst was over when it wasn’t so she wouldn’t give up. He’d tell her the chills were a good sign, then he’d say the fever was good. Using a cool cloth, he’d wipe the sweat from her brow, cheeks, and throat, all the while saying she would be all right in his deep voice.
    She decided that she loved that voice, even when it was lying. It had a soothing, calming quality about it. She imagined the horses responded well to it. She wanted to live long enough to watch him train a horse, her horse, the horse he’d promised her when she’d felt certain she would die.
    She watched him now as he gently washed the mud from her calf. His brow didn’t furrow as deeply at the sight of the discolored and slightly swollen flesh as it had when he had examined it before. She wondered if anyone had cared for him this tenderly when he had been injured. She couldn’t imagine with all the war casualties that anyone would have found time for a fifteen-year-old boy so badly wounded. She was surprised he’d come through his ordeal.
    But he had survived, and she was determined not to let a little snake claim her life.
    “Did your father take care of you when you were hurt?” she asked.
    He visibly stiffened. He so hated talking about the war, and yet it was such a part of his past and Dallas’s. How could she understand the men she would live with if she didn’t understand their history?
    “Our pa was dead by then. Dallas saw after me.
    “Dallas seems to have a habit of taking care of people.”
    “He has a knack for it. He’d have taken better care of you than I have.”
    “I can’t imagine how he could have,” she said as she placed her hand over his. His eye was red rimmed, his face haggard. “You need to sleep,” she said.
    “I will as soon as your fever breaks.”
    “When will that be?”
    “Soon.”
    Soon could be any moment, any day. Soon could be when death came.
    “Tell me something nice,” she said. “Something nice about the place where we’re going.”
    He touched the damp cloth to her throat. “Flowers. You’ll see beautiful flowers come spring: blue, red, yellow. Not as pretty as what you sew, but pretty just the same.”
    “What else?”
    “There’s nothing to block your view of the sunset. You can just watch it sweep across the land, making you feel so small.”
    “I am small.”
    He lifted a corner of his mouth. “Yeah, you are small.”
    Smiling softly, she touched the corner of his mouth. “A smile. I thought I’d die without ever seeing you smile.”
    “You’re not gonna die.”
    She lifted a brow. “Dallas will have your hide if I do.”
    Leaning low, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Damn right, he will.”
    “Can’t let that happen,” she said as she drifted off to sleep.

    He had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen. She’d